


Alleyway Altercations

by WillGirl



Series: Not Their Fathers' Sons [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, Family, First Love, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Next Generation, Homosexuality, M/M, Post - Deathly Hallows, Siblings, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-11 19:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillGirl/pseuds/WillGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus and Scorpius sneak off for some time together, but family problems follow them. (Follow-up to <i><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/340395/chapters/550895">Shedding Old Skins</a></i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _If you saw this story initially under a different name, with a different summary, then I apologize. I decided to make this one more self-contained, and to deal with the rest of the family fall-out in a separate piece, in order to keep things more focused. Sorry for any confusion._

Two long days passed before the boys saw each other again.

The sky over Diagon Alley that Tuesday was a sickly, muggy sort of grey, wet and heavy, but Scorpius was too anxious to notice the threat of rain. He paced back and forth in the narrow alley behind Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes and gnawed at his knuckles to avoid biting his nails. What if Albus had changed his mind? What if the time apart had given his family the chance to convince him that he was better off without Scorpius? What if someone else has caught his eye, someone more acceptable; someone better muscled, better looking? What if—

Albus, looking grim and twitchy, came hurrying around the corner, his face drawn and his bright green eyes searching. When he spotted Scorpius, his expression lit up and his tight lips parted in a broad smile.

Scorpius grinned and started forward, his mouth opening in a relieved greeting, but before he could speak there was Albus, pressed against him, hands clutching desperately and lips tugging at his own. Scorpius stumbled, but they caught each other and swayed upright as one wobbly figure of encircling arms and trembling legs.

They spoke between kisses, their words coming out in fragments and spurts—things like _you—missed—need—please—hold—_ and eventually were lost in moans and gasps. They ended up against the far wall of the alley, Albus pressed up against the bricks with Scorpius’s hands tight against his chest, pinning him there; Scorpius’s thigh pressed between Albus’s; Albus’s arms around Scorpius’s waist; and one of Albus’s legs wrapped around Scorpius, holding him in place as surely as Albus was held.

They were rubbing together hotly, not even realizing—or caring—that the shadows of the narrow street barely hid them from passerby crossing Diagon Alley, and they probably would have been gasping together in ecstasy in only a few minutes, but then a heavy hand landed on Scorpius’s shoulder.

The boys were wrenched apart, both stumbling; Scorpius was held up by that tight grip, but Albus, his weight having been distributed more between Scorpius and the wall than upon his own leg, went down flailing. He scrabbled at the wall behind him, skinning his palms on the rough brick, and barely managed to stop his fall before landing in the street.

Albus struggled upright, his eyes burning, and snarled at the source of the interruption: “What are you doing?!”

James Potter ignored his little brother, turning his own angry brown gaze on the boy he was holding at arm’s length. “What are _you_ doing?” he snarled, his furious tone unconsciously echoing Albus’s.

“Saying hello to my boyfriend,” Scorpius replied sharply. “Do you mind?” He knocked James’s arm away and yanked his rumpled clothes back into place, glaring despite knowing that it was Albus’s embrace more than James’s grasp that had disarranged his garments.

“I do mind,” James growled back. He grabbed Scorpius’s robes and lifted the other boy onto his toes before shaking him like a rag doll. “You smarmy, arrogant git,” he said, and shoved Scorpius backwards into the wall. “Let’s get a few things straight,” James began threateningly.

“That seems unlikely,” Scorpius sneered. A startled laugh burst from Albus’s lips. “I mean, given current evidence...” Scorpius waved languidly to indicate Albus and himself, and smirked at James.

James’s jaw worked a few times, a muscle in his cheek jumping, and his brown eyes blazed. He was a tall, solid boy, made of muscles and freckles and wild, flyaway, dull red hair. His wiry arms and speckled cheeks were a lighter shade of brown than Albus’s, but that was offset by the eternal sunburn that seemed to be a permanent accessory of his rich skin. He looked like the sort of boy who was forever skiving off his homework in order to sneak down to the Quidditch pitch, and he was; he looked like the sort of boy who was always straying outside the rules, and serving fewer detentions than he really deserved, always with an unabashed grin. He was. James Sirius Potter deserved his names, and reveled in the reputation of the two Marauders who had come before him. He was brash, and loud, and reckless, and very proud of his family, his flying, and his house—Gryffindor, of course.

James practically _breathed_ red and gold and he had never really been able to understand his quieter, shyer little brother. Nor had the two boys ever truly gotten along, even before Hogwarts had separated them by Sorting; they were too different, and James too quick to say whatever crossed his mind and Albus too quick to take his brother’s words straight to heart. It wasn’t that James was mean; he just wasn’t thoughtful, and Albus had always been sensitive. James also tended to hit or hex first, and stumble his way though well-meant but poorly-phrased apologies afterward.

He and Scorpius had _never_ gotten along.

Now James practically loomed over the smaller boy, glaring fiercely. It wasn’t that Scorpius was all that much shorter than James—only a few inches—but Scorpius was slight and delicate-featured, with a Seeker’s build despite his position as Chaser, while James came from the burly side of the Weasley family tree; the side that had Charlie on it, who worked with dragons. Next to Scorpius, James just _looked_ big: solid muscle, wild hair, and a very square, stubborn jaw.

Scorpius’s face was thin and pointed, but his chin jutted out just as stubbornly as he glared up at the boy holding him captive. “Let me go,” he said, his icy tone a warning.

“Say you’ll leave my brother alone first,” James replied immediately.

“Sod off,” suggested Albus.

“I refuse,” Scorpius replied to the elder Potter.

“Then I’ll teach you a lesson first, and _then_ you’ll say you’ll leave him alone,” James said.

“Precedent would indicate that, as you’ve never managed to ‘teach’ me any ‘lessons’ before, despite your efforts, I’m unlikely to ‘learn’ anything now,” Scorpius answered, his words a mocking drawl.

“Won’t know until we find out,” James said with a shrug, and dropped one of the hands that was holding Scorpius against the wall in order to draw it back in a fist.

Albus wrapped himself around his brother’s arm. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” he snarled, “don’t you _dare_ hit him, James, I’m warning you—”

“Stay out of this, Albie,” James said shortly, trying to shake his brother off without letting go of his captive. “It’s for your own good.”

“Screw you,” Albus replied.

“I just want to put a stop to this before that bastard screws _you_ ,” James said bluntly.

Albus’s cheeks flushed. “Are you and dad on some sort of team?” he demanded, his voice thick with embarrassment.

“Huh?” said James, looking over at Albus properly for the first time.

Scorpius took advantage of his captor’s distraction to twist, agile as the snake that represented his house, and slip free of James’s hold. He yanked his robes back into place, again, and stepped back, hands raised nervously to defend himself. Scorpius silently weighed the pros and cons of going for his wand. He knew he could take James Potter in a magical duel—could _probably_ take him—and here in the middle of Diagon Alley, there was no way the Trace could possibly sort out _who_ had cast _what_ spell, but if anyone saw them fighting with magic, and reported it to the Ministry, he would still be in trouble, and Scorpius knew that as a Malfoy, he was on thin ice automatically...

“I asked,” Albus was still speaking, his face bright with humiliation, “if you and dad have teamed up, trying to keep me from being properly shagged.”

James shook his head, his face wrinkled with confusion.

“Between him bursting in on us,” Albus explained angrily, “and you trying to beat the shit out of my boyfriend—what’s your _game?_ ” he demanded.

“Dad burst in on—he was trying to _fuck_ you?” James yelped.

“Well _yeah_ ,” said Albus, “we’re _dating_ , did you miss that?”

James’s eyes went wide as saucers, then narrowed in rage. He rounded on Scorpius. “You bastard!” he roared, “you poncey little stuck-up evil snakey freak!”

Scorpius stepped backwards instinctively, then froze with a scowl, hating himself for being weak enough to run, and revealing his cowardice to James Potter of all people. He hated even more that Albus had seen him flinch, although he knew that Albus was well aware that Scorpius didn’t suffer from the foolhardy bravery of Gryffindors and Weasleys. That had never mattered before, but now suddenly Scorpius wished that he could pretend to be brave (even though that also meant stupid) in front of Albus.

His angry hesitation earned him a punch in the face that he was too slow to dodge. Scorpius gasped and crumpled around a broken nose, one hand clutching at his face and the other reaching instinctively for his wand. He was bent half-double, his vision blurred by shock and sudden tears, and so he missed seeing Albus leap onto his brother’s back and try to pull James away from his boyfriend. He also missed the leg that James swung out, catching Scorpius around the ankles and sending him sprawling across the dirty paving stones of the alley.

“Scorpius!” Albus yelped. “Are you all righ—”

James threw Albus off with two sharp elbows, and Albus’s breath _whooshed_ out of his lungs in a loud gasp. Albus landed hard on his tailbone, but shot right back to his feet, his fist already swinging at James.

James took the blow on his forearm, barely grunting, and answered Albus’s swing with one of his own. That punch caught Albus on the side of his face, and Albus yelped, his green eyes tearing, and then he simply lunged.

He caught James around the middle and both Potters went down in a sprawling cluster of arms and fists and kicking feet. They rolled two or three times across the alley, fetching up against the soot-streaked brick wall. James had the advantage, and sat up, straddling his brother, so that he could rain blows down on Albus’s head and shoulders. Albus flung his arms up to protect his face, although James was not hitting nearly as hard as he could have; angry as he was, and as happy a brawler as he generally was, he could never bring himself to hit his little brother with all his strength.

That was little comfort to Albus, who had no idea that his brother was—literally—pulling his punches. He would have only been offended if he had known, thinking that James regarded him as too weak and inconsequential to be worth his full efforts, never suspecting that it was affection that held James back rather than scorn.

Scorpius, squinting through eyes already beginning to darken, scrambled to his feet. He wiped blood from his face, accomplishing little more than to smear the bright red liquid across his chin and the back of his hand, and grimaced at the agony of shattered bone. He got a good grip on his wand nonetheless—despite his bloody fingers—and stumbled forward.

James was in the middle of a diatribe that neither of the Slytherins was paying much attention to—railing against snakes, Malfoys, freaks, seducers, naïve brothers, and worthless good-for-nothing evil Death-Eater-spawn, amongst a host of other, baser insults—with Albus thrashing angrily, trying and failing to throw his big brother off. James was older, and larger, and stronger, and much heavier. Once he got settled in, he was hard to budge, as Albus had learned from bitter experience—but that didn’t stop him trying.

Then a thin, long-fingered hand wrapped itself tightly in James’s untidy mop of hair, and the slim point of a wand pressed against his neck. “Leave him be,” Scorpius hissed.

James stilled, blinking and panting. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said. “The Ministry will be on your scrawny arse so fast—”

“I wasn’t aware you were interested in my arse, James Potter,” Scorpius sneered, trying to hide his wince at the way his broken face protested the grimace.

“Oh, fuck you!” James snarled, recoiling from the pale blond despite the sharp pain it caused his scalp.

“Not even in your dreams,” Scorpius spat. “But hex you—that I would do. And let the Ministry try and prove it was me, right here in the middle of Wizarding London.”

“It’ll be my word against yours, you arrogant berk,” James snarled. “And when they take your wand away for underage magic—”

“I’ll tell them you’re making it up,” Albus interrupted.

James gawked at the little brother he was still sitting on. “You’d lie to the Ministry? For _this_ tosser?”

“I’d lie to _anyone_ for him,” Albus replied firmly. “He’s my best friend—and I love him.”

There was a long silence as the three boys regarded one another. Scorpius’s eyes watered, probably not entirely from pain, and his bloody lips curled into a shy smile. Albus’s face was very red, his brows set in a determined frown and his mouth a childishly stubborn pout. James was slack-jawed, staring down at his brother with wide eyes. He glanced sideways, trying to sneak a peek at the boy holding him at wandpoint, but without wrenching his hair right out of his head he could barely manage a glimpse out of the corner of his eye.

At last James gave up and turned his full attention back to Albus. “You _love_ him?” he repeated, frowning.

Albus’s red face turned even redder, but he nodded sharply.

“Really?” said James, his lip curling with disgust.

“Yes!” Albus cried, his voice squeaking.

“Oh,” said James. “Well...I guess that’s different, then.”

He raised his hands to indicate surrender, then elbowed Scorpius in the gut to shake him off. The pale blond stumbled backwards, wheezing, and snapped his wand back up to point at James again.

James just leaned down and offered a hand to his little brother. Albus slapped the hand away and levered himself up off the ground without assistance. He and Scorpius immediately moved to stand next to one another, linking hands. Scorpius didn’t lower his wand, but he did permit his hand to tremble a little; his face _really_ hurt, and breathing was a struggle, and it didn’t look like he was going to have to hex James Potter after all...probably...

James studied the two sixteen-year-olds in front of him. He cocked his head to one side and ran his eyes up one Slytherin and down the other, his gaze lingering at their clasped hands. Finally James shook his head, a bemused expression twisting his freckled face, and shrugged. “Well,” he said doubtfully, “I guess if you love him, that’s all right, then.”

Then he scowled and stepped forward, shaking a finger threateningly in Scorpius’s face. “But if I find out you’ve done _anything_ to hurt him; if it turns out you were just toying with him, or you cheat on him; if you’ve got him bewitched or seduced in any way...” Albus gave a squawk of protest, but James ignored him, continuing darkly, “If you hurt him, I’ll break you into so many pieces not even _your_ grandfather will be able to hire enough people to put you back together again.”

“I tremble in fear,” Scorpius sneered, his defiant attitude somewhat marred by the sharp wince as he face throbbed in protest.

“You should,” James said bluntly, “I mean it.” He turned to his brother and shook his head again, looking even more bewildered than before. “And you, Albie...you’ve just lost your mind I guess, haven’t you?”

“Don’t call me that,” Albus replied immediately. His brother ignored him.

“I mean I knew you were crazy,” James said, wiping sweat from his eyes, “but this...this is _really_ crazy, Al. I mean... _Scorpius Malfoy?_ Why the hell did you fall for _him?_ ” James asked plaintively. “You could have just about any bloke at Hogwarts you liked, and you picked _this_ one?”

“Yes,” Albus said firmly, “this one.”

James sighed and shrugged, puffing his cheeks out in a long whistle. “You’re totally barmy,” he proclaimed, “but I guess you have some balls after all. Who’d have thought?”

“Hey!” said Albus.

“I mean, when the hat put you in Slytherin,” James continued, “I figured it was because you were a coward, right? But damn if I wasn’t wrong, because you have sure as hell got to have some serious guts if you’re going to bring a _Malfoy_ home to _our_ family.” James shook his head, the hand he ran through his hair only making it more disheveled.

“You got balls, Al,” James finished, sounding both impressed and baffled, “and you are for sure going to need them.” He shook his head, tossed a nod at Scorpius that was both friendly and threatening at the same time, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and walked away.

The two Slytherins stood for a long moment, just blinking, not sure if the fight was over or not. When James turned around the corner with no indication of plans to continue the altercation, Scorpius finally lowered his arm.

Albus immediately grabbed his boyfriend by the shoulders, turning Scorpius to face him so that he could inspect his bloodied face. “Ow!” Scorpius cried, Albus’s gentle touch making him flinch.

“Sorry,” said Albus, “sorry, sorry...dammit, that’s broken...”

“I know it’s broken,” Scorpius said thickly, “I can feel it, thanks.”

“I’m so sorry,” Albus said, “he’s such an arse, I’m so sorry...”

“Albus,” Scorpius said firmly, “I have never, _ever_ blamed you for _anything_ that that neanderthal you are forced to call ‘brother’ does. I’m not about to start now.”

Albus grinned weakly. “No,” he said, “I guess you aren’t. Still...I’m really sorry.”

“Help me get healed and cleaned up before I have to go home and explain this to my parents,” Scorpius said, gesturing unhappily to the blood dripping down his chin and the bruises darkening his eyes, “and I will forgive you for _anything_.”

Albus leaned in and very, very gently brushed his lips over Scorpius’s bloody ones. “Deal,” he said.


	2. Chapter 2

Scorpius waited nervously in the alley behind Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. He held a bloody handkerchief lightly against his face, trying not to wince from the pain of his broken bones, knowing that would only make it hurt more. He shifted from foot to foot and tried to breathe through his mouth without aggravating his split lip. What was taking Albus so long?

Just when Scorpius was so overcome with nerves and impatience that he was ready to do the unthinkable and brave entering the joke shop himself, the back door opened. Albus came out, followed by a tall white woman with short blonde hair. Verity looked from Scorpius to Albus and back again. “Well,” she said at last, “now I see why you wanted _my_ help, and not your uncle’s.”

“Er, yeah,” said Albus, ducking his head uncomfortably. He didn’t like acknowledging the fact of his Uncle George’s animosity towards Albus’s best friend (and now boyfriend), but Scorpius knew better than to ever set foot inside Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. It wasn’t a safe place at the best of times, given the proprietor’s love of pranks, but the joke shop was an especial sort of dangerous to a Malfoy. Even with Albus and Rose for bodyguards, Scorpius had never dared go inside. He wasn’t entirely certain that he would come out again at all, but he knew for certain that it wouldn’t be in the form in which he had entered.

Albus knew his family would do almost anything for one another—and for him—but he wasn’t sure if Uncle George would be willing to help out with something if Scorpius was involved. He had never asked, afraid that the answer would be “no,” and knowing that it would hurt if it was. So, playing it better safe than sorry, when he needed to find someone he could trust to hand out healing charms and bruise balm, he had turned to his uncle’s manager instead.

Verity inspected the bleeding boys with a cool and unhurried eye. Having spent the last two-and-a-half-decades working at Wealeys’ Wizarding Wheezes, she was quite accustomed to both magical misfortunes as well as more common forms of injury. “Well,” she said briskly, “let’s get you cleaned up, then.”

She turned to Albus and tilted his chin up so that she could inspect his scratches and bruises. “But Scorpius—” he protested, trying to pull away from her fingers.

“—looks to have gotten the worst of it,” Verity retorted sharply, “so he’ll take longer to fix. I’ll start with you, then you’ll be done and I can get to work on him without being distracted. Now shush,” she said firmly. Albus shushed, but his green eyes pulled sideways to stare longingly at his still-bleeding boyfriend.

Scorpius forced a smile despite the pain the gesture caused him. “I’m fine, Al,” he said soothingly. “Don’t fuss, just let her work.”

Verity alternated healing charms with cleaning ones, until Albus’s face looked almost normal again—just more mottled in color than usual. It took her barely two minutes work. She turned the same attention to his scraped knuckles and ravaged palms, then pulled a small jar from the pockets of her robes. “There,” she said, “dab that on the bruises, they’ll clear up in a few hours.” Verity’s smile turned crooked. “Working for your uncle, one gets pretty attached to a good bruise balm, and this is his personal blend—better than anything on the open market.”

Albus nodded and unscrewed the lid, wincing only a little as the new skin on his knuckles pulled and stretched. The lid of the jar had a small mirror set into it, so Albus could see to smear the sharp, minty-smelling goo on his face. He glanced over and watched anxiously as Verity knelt down next to Scorpius and started prodding his tender, blood-coated face.

“Should I even ask what happened,” Verity said drily, “or will you only lie badly?”

“We got in a fight,” Albus mumbled.

“With each other?”

“No!” Albus almost dropped the bruise balm. “No, of course not,” he snapped, “it was Jam—” He clamped his mouth shut hard enough to jar the tender spots, and quickly looked away again.

There was a slight, wry smirk on Verity’s sharp face. “I see,” she murmured. Verity flicked her wand, and Scorpius’s broken nose snapped back into place. He gave a shocked little cry of pain and blinked furiously to dry his eyes. Verity pretended not to notice. “Well,” she said calmly, “if this ‘Jaym’ needs any help with _his_ face...”

“Then he can just sod off,” Albus snapped. He had gone very pale at Scorpius’s cry, and now stood belligerently with his hands on his hips, the bruise balm clenched in one tight fist.

Verity did not quite roll her eyes. She had had a lot of practice at not doing that, working for George Weasley and his late brother. She had had even _more_ practice actually _doing_ that, as George did not object to snarky employees who answered him back smartly, so long as they got their work done too, and Verity was very good at multitasking. Indignant adolescents were something else entirely though, something far more prickly and persnickety than George Weasley even at his most irritated, so Verity said nothing; just reached back calmly for the bruise balm.

Albus handed the jar over and Verity efficiently started smearing the pale green paste over the paler face of the wincing boy in front of her. Scorpius hissed and flinched, and blinked a lot, but managed to keep his eyes from doing more than misting. Verity very gently ruffled the boy’s strangely-silky hair and rocked back to her feet. “There you go,” she said, “good as new, or you soon will be.” She frowned slightly. “Although those bruises under your eyes may take a while to go away—they were pretty dark. You’ve got some fragile cheekbones, don’t you youngster?”

Scorpius flushed. “I am perfectly fine, thank you.” A muscle in his cheek twitched, giving the lie to his bold words—Verity knew he had to be in pain, and would be for quite a while, even with George Weasley’s extra-special-strength balm to dull the ache—but Verity pretended not to see. No one had pride like a sixteen-year-old boy, especially one who had clearly just gotten beaten up by his best friend’s older brother.

“Well, good to know,” Verity said calmly. She slipped the bruise balm back into the pocket of her robes, nodded to both boys, and walked back to the side door of the shop, where she paused briefly. “Anything else I can do either of you for?” she asked.

She was answered with two mutely shaken heads, and a polite but subdued, “thank you,” from the green-eyed boy. Verity smiled, winked at Albus, and ducked back inside. “Cleaning up after you, as usual,” she yelled back in response to George’s shouted demand to know where she had been when the rush hit the cash register.

Verity plunged into the chaos of Weasley’ Wizarding Wheezes, expertly navigating her way around the group of second years poking the puffler tank (bad idea), and the crowd of teenage girls that always clustered at the love potions. “Back to work,” she muttered to herself, and made it to the check-out line just in time to save George from an irate mother who wanted to know why her son had turned purple when the label clearly stated that he would do just that, if he used his new scarf improperly. Verity briskly recited Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes legal policy while she steered the woman towards the shelves that held beauty products. George gave her a grateful wink and a flick on the nose. Verity stuck her tongue out at her boss, rolled her eyes, and got on with her day.

Outside, Albus and Scorpius were carefully checking one another to make certain that no injuries had been overlooked. If they did most of their checking pressed close together with their eyes closed, that did not in any way lessen the intensity or accuracy of their examination.

Finally satisfied that all wounds had been appropriately tended, the boys settled into a loose-armed hug and leaned back against the wall. “How are you?” Albus asked.

“Better,” Scorpius murmured. “You?”

Albus nodded. “Sorry about him,” he said. “Again.”

“Don’t,” Scorpius said, “really. I _don’t_ blame you. Honest.” He gently kissed the new, pink skin on Albus’s palms that replaced what had been scoured off against the harsh brick of the wall. 

“Thanks,” Albus said. He sighed. “Sometimes I really, really hate having a brother...actually, I think I hate it _all_ the time.”

Scorpius laughed. “I’m sorry,” he said, and kissed the fading bruise on the edge of Albus’s jaw. “If it helps, I think he hates me more.”

“You know,” Albus said, an involuntary snort making both boys grin, “I think it kind of does. Thanks.”


	3. Chapter 3

Rose Weasley bent double and tilted her head sideways. She still had to squint a little to read the faded title on the spine of the very old leather book in front of her. She worried at her lip, weighing her pocket money up in her mind. She had enough for the book— _Carey’s Essays of Essential Magical Mythology—_ but only barely. Buying it now might be reckless, but it was the only copy here. Maybe she could ask about putting it on reserve, and then come back to pay for it in a week or two...

Rose straightened up with a sigh, and rubbed her forehead absently. She was a tall girl, and bending her head that low to the floor left her somewhat woozy when the blood rushed back. Rose blinked a few times, her bright blue eyes refocusing slowly. The hazy, dust-mote-filled light that streamed through the tall windows of Flourish and Blotts was a warm golden color that gleamed against the embossed spines of the nicer books, and shimmered on the glossy covers of the cheaper, newer print runs.

An elderly witch wearing too much make-up vamped in the photograph of the nauseatingly-green books piled high on the table in front of Rose. She wondered what such a lurid, modern publication was doing all the way back here, but then decided that probably the employees were just tired of looking at the awful thing and had picked the first out-of-the-way table to stack it. Rose made a face at the simpering photograph, and ambled back towards the front of the store, passing idly through the Biography section on her way. She ignored, as always, the names and photographs of her parents, aunts, uncles, and adopted extended family.

Rose had not found it strange, growing up, to have her parents featured in books and magazines, because they had been treated like that her whole life. It wasn’t until she went to Hogwarts that she realized how weird it was being the child of war heroes, and now it made her mildly uncomfortable every time she saw evidence of their heroic celebrity. Rather than get upset or try to avoid the un-avoidable fact that her parents, along with nearly every other adult she knew, had once helped to save the world, Rose usually just tried to pay it all as little attention as was possible.

Then she did a sharp double-take, blinking hard at the image she had caught out of the corner of her eye. She had to actually shake her head before she could convince herself that what she was seeing was real, and not another book-cover photo of her Uncle Harry. It was the boy standing next to him that had made Rose think twice, because as far as she knew, there were no war-era photographs of Uncle Harry that also featured her friend Scorpius Malfoy’s father.

Rose rubbed her eyes, then sneezed, because the old books in the back of Flourish and Blotts really were dusty. She sneezed again, and wiped her eyes clear, but the image in front of her didn’t change. Rose frowned. No wonder she had assumed that she was just seeing another book cover: Albus and Scorpius were both bruised and battered, like Rose’s parents looked in every single photo taken during the war.

Rose shoved her way through a crowd of third years gathered in front of the books on Hogwarts’ elective courses. “What on earth happened to you two?” she demanded.

Albus dropped the book he was holding, and Scorpius actually jumped into the air. They turned towards Rose with guilty expressions on their bruised faces. “Nothing,” the boys yelped reflexively.

Rose raised a heavy eyebrow. She planted her hands on her hips. She cleared her throat.

They both crumpled so fast she might as well have been her grandmother. Rose didn’t feel guilty about pressuring them into fessing up; what business did they have, keeping secrets from their best friend? She wasn’t going to put up with nonsense like that, and they should both of them know better than to think she would.

“It was James,” Albus explained. A grimace of disgust accompanied his words, until he winced and rubbed his cheek. Clearly the fading purple-and-yellow bruise on the side of his jaw wasn’t as old as it looked; bruise balms could cut the pain and lift the colors, but even with healing-time sped up, marks that size would ache.

“You got in a fight with James?” Rose said. She reached out to touch the bruise. “Another one? Albus!”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Albus protested, drawing back. “James started it. And we haven’t had a fight in forever, so don’t say it like it happens all the time...”

“It _does_ happen all the time,” Rose said flatly. She frowned. “But you don’t usually drag poor Scorpius into your brawls...”

“‘Poor’ Scorpius is perfectly fine, thank you,” Scorpius sniffed haughtily. Then he winced and pressed a hand to his face. The way he cringed, and the deep purple circles under his grey eyes, told Rose that his nose had been recently broken.

“Are you okay?” she asked. Rose gently pulled Scorpius’s hand away so that she could see his face. Along with the bruises under his eyes, there were fading red marks around his pale neck, and his bottom lip was cut by a heavy, fresh scab.

“I just said...”

“Yes,” Rose interrupted, “but you were standing on your dignity, not being truthful.” Rose gently smoothed a stray curl of white-blond hair back behind Scorpius’s ear.

Scorpius scowled, but Albus had to hide a smirk. “I was not standing on my dignity,” Scorpius argued. “I _am_ perfectly fine. Or I will be, at least,” he amended grudgingly when Rose cleared her throat again. “One of the women who works at your uncle’s shop helped us clean up.”

“Verity,” Albus supplied.

Rose nodded. “Well, you still look pretty bad,” she said truthfully.

“Thanks,” Scorpius drawled. “It’s lovely to see you, too.”

Rose flushed. “I mean,” she said, “that you look like you’ve been in a fight.”

“Verity said the bruises and stuff would fade in a few hours,” Albus offered. He shrugged helplessly. “She’s been working for Uncle George forever,” he added, “if she’s not an expert in bruises by now...”

Rose nodded. “Well,” she said drily, “you’d just better hope that they _do_ fade, and really well too, before Scor has to go home.”

Both boys paled, and Albus swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, “I really do.” Scorpius nodded fervent agreement.

“His mother will _kill_ you if she finds out you let him get hurt,” Rose continued viciously. She grinned.

“I know,” Albus whined, “and you don’t have to sound so happy about it.”

Rose snickered.

“You’re a sadist,” grumbled Albus.

“Ravenclaws,” said Scorpius, shrugging. “Your pain is their research.”

Rose stuck her tongue out at him. “Careful,” she said, “or my next research could be _your_ pain.”

“No thank you,” Scorpius replied, with a delicate shudder. “I’ve had enough revision on that subject already today, thank you.”

“Dare I ask what started _this_ fight?” Rose said tiredly.

Albus avoided her eye; so, oddly enough, did Scorpius. “The usual,” Albus muttered. “You know snakes and lions...”

“Uh-huh,” Rose agreed, “and I also know when I’m being given the brush-off.”

“Albus’s brother had an objection he wanted to raise about Albus’s current relationship with me,” Scorpius explained pedantically, “and the, ah...the level and variety of intimacy he thought was appropriate, and what wasn’t.”

Rose nodded slowly as Albus’s cheeks turned pink. “Ah,” she said, her voice a bit strangled. “So...I guess that means you told them, then—or did James just, you know...catch you?” She grimaced.

“No,” Albus said, “no he didn’t catch us...well he sort of did, snogging; but not, you know...I mean, he already knew, it’s not like he found out _by_ catching us...”

“That was Albus’s father who did that, actually,” Scorpius added archly.

Albus went red. “Shut-up about that,” he ordered breathlessly.

“Sorry.” Scorpius grinned.

“I thought you were all traumatized by that, or something, anyway,” Albus grumbled.

“I was,” said Scorpius, “but it’s more fun making you squirm than it is remembering how frightening your father looked when he thought I had you Imperiused.”

Rose gasped. “He _what?_ ” she cried.

Scorpius shrugged, uncomfortable. “Well...you know my family history...”

“That doesn’t give Uncle Harry the right to suspect you of such—such horrible things!” she insisted. “He didn’t actually accuse you of—of that, did he?”

Scorpius shrugged again, looking down at the floor. “Well...yes,” he said. “In Mr. Potter’s defense, it was a rather...startling situation that he found us in...and given who I _am_...”

Rose went as red as her hair, but still shook her head angrily. “I don’t care _what_ he saw, that’s an _awful_ thing to accuse someone of,” the girl said firmly. “Uncle Harry had just better have apologized _really sincerely_ ,” she added with a very fierce scowl.

“More importantly,” Scorpius said, overriding the girl’s indignation on his behalf, “he gave Albus and I permission to see one another.”

Rose crossed her arms. “Great,” she said, her voice flat. “That’s brilliant. Of course, he thinks Albus has been Cursed into it...”

“I think dad’s over that now, actually,” Albus mumbled.

Scorpius grinned. “I don’t care what your father thinks about me,” he insisted valiantly, only lying a little, “so long as he lets me date you.” He linked his fingers with Albus’s and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

Albus yanked his hand away. “Don’t,” he hissed, “someone will see!”

“So?” Scorpius asked. “Our parents have all been told, now. We don’t have to be discreet anymore, the secret’s out.” He looked amused.

“But the rest of my family,” Albus protested, “they don’t know, and your grandparents—”

“Are you saying,” Scorpius interrupted, “that before we can be seen together in public, you intend to personally tell each and every member of your family that we’re an item? Each and _every one?_ Al,” he said, “do you _know_ how many people you _have_ in your family? That’s insane.”

Albus laughed weakly. “Yeah,” he said, “I guess so...”

“And correct me if I’m wrong,” Scorpius continued, turning to Rose for confirmation, “but is it normally the practice in your family that all schoolyard dalliances must be presented to, and approved by, a representative majority of Weasleys?”

Rose turned pink, and Albus went pale. “No,” the girl said.

Scorpius nodded. “Well then,” he said, and turned back to Albus, who was staring at him with horror. “Oh, sweetheart!” the fair-haired boy cried, “I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t!”

“I—yeah...”

“It’s just that this is only going to _seem_ an ordinary schoolyard dalliance to _them_ ,” Scorpius hurried to explain, “because that’s all it is _now_ , technically. We’re in school, and we’re definitely...dallying.” He smirked, and reached out to take Albus’s hand again.

This time, Albus let him. “Yeah,” he said, blushing slightly, “that’s true.”

“You know I love you madly,” Scorpius continued softly. “Who cares what they think?”

Albus’s blush deepened. Before he could reply in kind, a tall red blur shoved past him, barreling toward the door and out of the shop. The bell jangled angrily in protest at being slammed so hard. The boys stared, slack-jawed, at the place where Rose Weasley had disappeared.

“What on earth—?”

“No idea,” Albus replied. “We better go find her.”

The boys raced out of Flourish and Blotts, and stopped at the kerb. They looked around, but there was no sign of Rose in the crowd of shoppers that thronged Diagon Alley. “Do you see her?” Albus asked.

“No,” said Scorpius, “do you know what’s going on?”

“No,” Albus replied, “but she seemed really upset...we should split up. I’ll go this way, we can meet back at Fortescue’s in...”

“Say an hour,” Scorpius said. “That gives us plenty of time to look, and to coax her back if she’s recalcitrant.”

“Good plan,” agreed Albus. He boldly kissed his boyfriend’s pale cheek, not caring if anyone was looking, and then hurried away down the southside of Diagon Alley. He did his best to ignore the colorful and captivating window displays, scanning the crowds instead for any sign of a tall girl with bright, bushy red hair.

Albus had been searching for a good twenty minutes, and had strayed far from the beaten paths of the main streets, when he finally spotted her. Rose was huddled miserably on a stoop, about halfway down a skinny, dim-lit alley. Albus walked toward her very slowly, not wanting to startle Rose into either running off again or, worse, going for wand or fist. Albus had a healthy respect for his cousin’s dueling and brawling skills, and he had had enough fighting for one day.

“Hey,” Albus said quietly. “You okay?” He edged his way carefully onto the stoop next to the red-haired girl, watching balefully to make certain that she wasn’t going to suddenly lash out and throw him into the street. Rose just tugged miserably at her fingers. Albus could see, through the curtain of her bushy hair, that her lip was trembling.

“Fine,” Rose muttered.

Albus nodded. “Right,” he said, “and this time let’s try it again, with a real answer, okay?”

Rose glanced sideways through her hair to give him a withering glare.

“You can scowl at me all you like,” Albus told the girl, “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong, and what I can do to fix it.” He resisted the urge to back away; Rose was as Ravenclaw as Albus was a Slytherin, but she had a Weasley’s instinctive hatred of cowardice, and if Albus looked skittish, Rose would probably smack him just to prove the point.

“You can’t fix it,” Rose said shortly.

“Wanna bet?” Albus replied. He managed a comforting grin. “Between your brains, Scor’s moral flexibility and money, and my general awesomeness, the three of us can fix _anything_ , don’t you remember?”

Rose did not smile, and the dark scowl on her face only deepened.

Albus swallowed hard, and decided to try another tack. “You can at least tell me what’s wrong,” he said gently. “No sense you being miserable alone, when the two of us can be miserable together.”

Rose sighed. “The two of us,” she said bitterly, “great. Perfect.”

“Or...we can go to Fortescue’s and find Scorpius, and all three of us can be miserable over ice cream?” Albus suggested.

Rose sighed again, this one even heavier than the first. “Great,” she repeated.

“Did something happen in the bookshop?” Albus asked. “Was it something I said? Or Scorpius?”

“No, it was nothing that—look, just forget it, okay?” Rose said. She brushed her hair out of her face and forced a smile. It looked painfully fake and brittle, and made Albus wince. “It’s not a big deal. I think it’s just that time of the month, probably, so I’m just crazy-emotional...”

Albus shook his head. “Nope,” he said, “sorry. Not going to work. I have two many cousins, not to mention a big-mouthed sister, _and_ you for a best friend. I am not going to be scared off by mention of the dreaded P-word.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Why can’t you be a normal bloke,” she complained.

“You’re a Ravenclaw,” Albus pointed out. “You don’t _know_ any normal blokes.”

“I know people from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff,” Rose argued.

“And they’re all easily frightened by the mere hint of non-grammatical-periods,” Albus agreed, “but I am not them. And I’m not going away until you tell me what’s wrong, because that is _not_ it. You _never_ get overly-emotional during your monthlies,” he pointed out. “At least not since third year, when you got all annoyed about hormones and had Scor and I help you work up that noxious potion—you remember?”

“I drink it once a month,” Rose said drily, “so I think I remember, yeah.”

Albus shrugged. “Well then,” he said cheerfully, “either tell me the truth, or find a better lie. Remember, though, I’m a Slytherin, and my best friend is a Malfoy.” He grinned. “The truth is probably easier. Just a piece of advice.”

Rose rolled her eyes and let out her breath in an aggrieved huff of air. “Why didn’t I take mum’s advice,” she griped to herself, “and avoid having blokes for my best friends?”

“Because then you wouldn’t have had nearly as much fun in your life,” Albus replied.

“Or gotten in nearly as much trouble,” Rose added shortly.

Albus shrugged, unabashed. “Point well made,” he admitted, “but you’re deliberately trying to distract me with conversational tangents. Won’t work. What’s wrong?”

“Scorpius,” Rose said, then immediately pressed her lips together and swallowed hard, but it was too late to take the word back.

“Scorpius?” Albus repeated. “Why, what’s he done?”

“You, apparently,” Rose replied bitterly. She looked shocked at herself, and this time actually clamped a hand to her mouth. She glared at Albus accusingly. “Did you slip me Veritaserum?” she said accusingly.

“Nope,” Albus replied, despite the fact that his face had currently turned as bright as his cousin’s hair. “That must just be my natural charm.” He cleared his throat. “And for the record, he hasn’t, really. Not yet. Properly. If you were curious.”

Rose pouted sulkily. “I wasn’t,” she muttered. Then, clearly interested despite her best efforts not to be, she asked, “Why not?”

“Oh, well.” Albus blushed even harder. “We were, um, we were working on it, but...dad interrupted.”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “Wow,” she said, “so that’s what Scorp was talking about earlier, then? You were...you were mid-shag? _That’s_ what Uncle Harry walked in on?”

“Yeah,” Albus said. He cleared his throat again, and looked down the alley to avoid Rose’s eye. It was a very boring alley, with nothing more interesting at the end of it than a few lonely barrels and one battered crate. Albus wished Rose had picked somewhere more entertaining to have her breakdown.

"No _wonder_ he flew off the handle," Rose muttered. Albus wondered if it was possible for human faces to actually catch fire.

“So, um,” he said, still not looking at her, “what is it, are you jealous or something? Because I can think of at least five blokes right off the top of my head who would be _more_ than happy to shag _you_. Five blokes,” he amended, “and six girls, and most of them aren’t half-bad-looking, so if you’re feeling left out, or something...”

“No thanks,” Rose said flatly.

“Okay,” said Albus, “then what is it you’re upset about, if it’s not the fact that I’m going to beat you to losing my cherry?”

The withering glare was back. Rose clearly didn’t appreciate his efforts at maintaining a lighthearted tone. “How about you go work on that now,” she told him, “all by yourself?” She coupled her words with an explicit finger-motion.

Albus decided to ignore the suggestion. “Come on, Rosie,” he wheedled, “I’m your best friend, I’ve been your best friend since we were in diapers...if you can’t tell me what’s bothering you, who can you tell?”

Rose’s gaze slipped away, settling miserably on the road surface in front of them. She poked a bit of dried mud with her toe. “I’m a little bit in love, I think,” she mumbled.

“Really?” said Albus. “Rose, that’s brilliant! Who with?”

She caught Albus’s eyes and held them. Her freckled face twisted in a sour grimace. “Scorpius,” she said.

Albus stared. Rose looked down at the ground again. “Not so brilliant after all, is it?” she asked bitterly. She started picking at her fingernails, a habit she normally only engaged in during exams.

“You fancy Scorpius?” Albus echoed dumbly.

Rose nodded, still staring miserably at the ground.

Albus gingerly put a hand on her shoulder. “Since when?” he asked, voice as gentle as his grip.

“Since...I don’t know...probably some time third year,” Rose admitted. “I mean, it was just sort of a crush, then...and he kind of annoyed me, so having a crush on him annoyed me even _more_ , but...but then it stopped being annoying...” She shrugged.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Albus asked.

“I was going to!” Rose cried. Her head came up, and Albus yanked his hand away quickly, in case she turned on him. “I had it all planned out, I was finally going to tell him, no matter how frightened it made me. I had the whole thing planned—I wrote out a speech and all that—I was going to ‘get my Gryffindor up,’ as dad would say, and...and tell him.” She swallowed. “Right after O.W.L.s were over. I mean, there wasn’t time to deal with, you know, with _boys_ until _then_ , I had too much studying...”

Albus refused to laugh at his Ravenclaw cousin’s priorities. Now was not the time to tease Rose. It would end badly—for him. “Oh,” he said instead, very quietly. “But then...”

“Yeah,” Rose replied, her voice low. Her anguished gaze caught Albus’s eyes for a moment, then dropped back to the dirty pavement. “Then you two started...being _you two_.”

“So...so when you, um, when you sort of helped us...”

“That was unintentional, yes,” Rose admitted. “I didn’t actually know what Scorpius was talking about, exactly, until halfway through the conversation, and...and then it was too late. I mean, not that I regret helping you, of course,” she added quickly, “I mean you’re my friends, of course I don’t—”

“Only you do, a little bit,” Albus guessed.

Rose’s shoulders slumped even lower. “Yeah,” she muttered guiltily. “Maybe a little bit.”

“Rose,” Albus said, carefully slinging an arm around her, “I’m the Slytherin cousin, remember? You can be honest with me, even when it makes you look bad. You only have to pretend to be a Paragon of Nobility around the Gryffindors. They’re the ones used to faking that bullshit. Down in the dungeons, we can _admit_ that we’re all just _people_ , and not think less of one another for it.”

Rose managed a weak little smile at that. “Right,” she said. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Albus reassured her, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

They sat in slightly-less-miserable silence for a minute, then Rose hesitantly asked, “So...when did _you_ start to fancy Scorp?”

“About two seconds after I kissed him,” Albus replied, choosing to ignore the despised nickname for the moment.

“Oh,” said Rose. She had gone a bit pink. So had Albus.

“Yeah,” he said, “it was a bit of a surprise.”

A startled laugh burst from Rose’s lips. Albus grinned crookedly. “Bit of a surprise for him, too,” he added.

“I’ll bet,” Rose said drily. “Dare I ask how you two ended up kissing _before_ you fancied one another? General practice has that step coming _after_.”

Albus shrugged, blushing. “We were fighting over the Quidditch practice schedule, I think,” he said. “Or something like that. I was trying to get it away from him, and it turned into a bit of a wrestling match...”

“You _wrestled_ with _Scorpius?_ ” Rose asked, one eyebrow very high. Her tone was the sharp, accusatory one that always reminded Albus that his cousin was a Prefect.

“Well not for _real_ ,” Albus demurred quickly. “Just, you know, for fun or whatever...”

“Boys,” Rose muttered, her voice thick with disgust and resigned amusement.

“Anyway,” Albus continued loudly, ignoring her, “I won, and reached for the parchment, only instead I ended up kissing him. Somehow.” His face felt like it was going to catch fire any moment. “And then we sort of stared at each other in horror and confusion, and...then we decided to try it again, to see what was going on.”

Rose stared at him. “Seriously?” she said.

Albus shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Things just sort of...went from there.”

Rose shook her head. “I can’t believe I spent pretty much two _years_ pining after Scorp, and you just come along out of nowhere and steal him with a kiss...”

“I didn’t steal him,” Albus protested. “You hadn’t said anything yet, remember? It’s not like you _told_ me you had some master plan...if you’d _told_ me you _liked_ him, I wouldn’t have—I mean I never—I didn’t know you fancied him, okay?”

“I did tell you!” Rose argued. “Right near the start of the school year!”

“What?” said Albus. “When?”

“I don’t know exactly...we were in the library, the three of us, and he had to leave for some reason, I can’t remember why...so it was just you and I there, and I told you I had decided that I liked him.”

“No you didn’t,” said Albus, “I don’t remember this at all. You’re imagining...” His voice trailed off, and he frowned in concentration. “Wait,” he said, “wait, hang on...yeah, no, I remember now...but you never said you _fancied_ him.”

“I most certainly did—”

“No,” Albus cut her off, “no, you didn’t. All you said was that you liked him—”

“Exactly,” Rose began, but Albus wasn’t done:

“Well I didn’t know you meant _like_ -like...I thought you just meant, you know, as a friend. Like, you had decided that you did like him after all, that he was okay. That you no longer thought he was an annoying, arrogant waste of space.”

“I hadn’t thought _that_ in _years_ ,” Rose protested. “We’ve been friends—actual friends—since, I don’t know, end of second year.”

“Yeah,” said Albus, “I knew that, but I was never sure if you and Scorpius _knew-_ knew that, or if you were just sort of going along in friendly denial...”

Rose stared at him. “You’re an idiot,” she said.

“In my defense,” Albus argued quickly, “you’ve known that all our lives. You should have realized I didn’t know what you were really talking about, and explained more clearly.”

Rose opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again. “You’re probably right,” she said. “I _do_ know that.”

Albus nodded, smiling in victory, even if it was a victory that meant he was declared an idiot. Then he sobered, and pulled Rose into a tight hug. “I _am_ really sorry, you know,” he said quietly. “I honestly had no idea. I wouldn’t have hurt you like that, not on purpose.”

Rose sighed. “I know,” she said tiredly, “but knowing that doesn’t _stop_ it hurting.” She rested her head on Albus’s shoulder. “I guess it wouldn’t have mattered anyway though, huh?” Rose observed. She sighed unhappily. “Who would have guessed that Scorp was gay?”

“Um...half the population of Hogwarts?” suggested Albus.

Rose laughed. “No way,” she argued, “eighty percent of them, at least.”

Albus laughed as well. “I concede,” he said. “Five points to Ravenclaw.”

Rose smiled, and hugged her cousin. “Don’t tell Scorpius, will you? And try not to snog in front of me all the time, okay?”

“Deal,” said Albus.

“Okay,” Rose nodded, “thanks. So now tell me...is Scorp a good kisser?”

Albus grinned.

* * *

Three teenagers sat, laughing together, at one of the outdoor tables at Fortescue’s Nouveau Coffee-shop and Ice Cream Parlour. The tallest was a girl with a bright, bushy red mane, half-escaped from its binding. Next to her was a boy with an untidy mop of black hair and slim glasses that caught the fading afternoon light, flashing like mirrors when he threw back his head in amusement. He sat beside a very thin boy whose blond head was so pale it was nearly white, and who had two deep, fading bruises under his eyes.

All three sat close together, crowded around their small table with its trio of large, towering ice cream sundaes. The boys’ hands strayed together under the table, and their fingers kept tangling up, out of sight. The girl pretended not to notice. The blond fed the cherry atop his pile of whipped cream to the dark-haired boy, then stole the one off his sundae to give to the red-head. She smacked him lightly in reprimand, but still ate the stolen fruit, despite its owner’s protests.

If either boy saw that Rose’s blue eyes were red-rimmed, or noticed that her laughter was not as boisterous as usual, nor her smiles as strong, neither commented. Albus, of course, knew exactly why his cousin’s mood was subdued and as for Scorpius...well, he had always been a very perceptive boy.

If he had guessed, he surely also knew better than to say anything.


End file.
